


Remind me, who do i prefer?

by Happyteafox



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alien/Human Relationships, F/M, First Destiny Fic, Kidnapping, Love Triangles, Prisoner of War, Robot/Human Relationships, Robots, Stalking, Unrequited Crush, dont worry, first fic in ages actually, he is coming, needs more mithrax, ya boy mithrax
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-02-13 18:50:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12990324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happyteafox/pseuds/Happyteafox
Summary: "I’m telling you Cayde, this stalking is getting out of hand! I can’t focus on my missions while constantly looking around every corner in case I bump into the four armed freak.”At this Cayde-6 lets out a loud bark of laughter. A few people working in the hanger look over to see what the exo finds so funny. He flicks away whatever he pulled from his glove “Then shoot the guy, give him a whack, you’re no stranger to rough and tumble with the fallen,” he winks at you “Or, maybe the big guy is working up the courage to ask you out for dinner.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I read the wonderful fic by dngrs_untld_hrdshps_unnmbrd, called "Mithrax the Forsaken has no house" (go read it now) and welp, now I'm hooked on some good old fashioned forbidden alien smut. As there is not that much content for it at the moment I thought I would contribute with my late night fantasy fuelled ramblings that I wrote in the space of two hours. I am making it up as I go with an idea of what I want to happen, but the story is even taking me for a bit of a ride. So buckle up boyos, we're going on a space themed tacky romance, complete with love triangles, creepy obsessions and some self insert, because whose Guardian is the most important? yours.
> 
> This is told from a female point of view, because I don't like [insert name here] or [y/n] to interrupt the flow of writing, and I found it easier to pick a set of pronouns ad go with it. Plus I'm a lady and its my fantasy smut OK? Tags will be updated as I write, so please keep checking after updates for possible warnings.
> 
> Please leave some kudos, some comments and don't forget to tip your waitress.

“Are you sure it was him?” Cayde-6 asks casually while he picks something out from the seam in his glove. He looks up with one metal brow raised, the soft glow of his eyes waiting for you to respond. Being posed with such a simple question you hesitate for a moment, _maybe you were seeing things?_

“No, it was him. I don’t know of any other Fallen that wouldn’t just attack me on sight. I’m telling you Cayde, this stalking is getting out of hand! I can’t focus on my missions while constantly looking around every corner in case I bump into the four armed freak.”

At this Cayde-6 lets out a loud bark of laughter. A few people working in the hanger look over to see what the exo finds so funny. He flicks away whatever he pulled from his glove “Then shoot the guy, give him a whack, you’re no stranger to rough and tumble with the fallen,” he winks at you “Or, maybe the big guy is working up the courage to ask you out for dinner.”

With that you throw your arms up in exasperation. Of course Cayde would find this funny. “Cayde,” You say, your voice taking a serious tone “If I go missing, I’m sending my ghost to haunt you.” You pause at the weak pun in this. Cayde is trying not to laugh again. Your ghost, Gilly, materializes, and looks between you and Cayde-6 with its single blinking eye. Not wanting to fuel the exo’s giggles anymore, you turn to leave but he grabs your hand.

“Wait, wait… I will help you. I’m not afraid to give my hunters any help they need, especially my favourite ones.” His sincerity softens you slightly, and you appreciate that he is actually willing to take you seriously. You turn back to face him, but he doesn’t let go. Drawing you in close, you swallow nervously at the proximity. “I’ll give you some advice,” He says, bringing his hard metal jaw to your ear “It’s slutty to kiss on the first date.”

Your hand hurts when you punch him, but you don’t care.  
-

It has been a few weeks since you shared with Cayde-6 your particular fallen problem, but surprisingly there has been no sign of the huge Eliksni since. You feel lighter, knowing that you can concentrate on your patrols without fallen lurking behind you, watching and hiding, then running away when you threaten them with gun shots and shouting. As you watch the silhouette of ether escape from the vandal walking past the Trostland church, you realise that these particular fallen look slightly different to the ones you encountered when Sloane sent you after the reactor. But where had he gone lately? _Oh traveller, did you miss him?_

You think back on that mission all the time, more than any other you’ve been sent on. The huge captain, Mithrax Gilly later told you, behaved unlike any fallen you’ve come across. Well, he straight up bowed at you for a start! Then he just let you have the reactor, as though it was his to give, just because you killed that Knight. You would have shot him too, but Hive were just a bit higher on your alien enemy shit-list.

Before you even had the chance to unload your new magazine into the four arms, the fallen just stared and made your finger hesitate on the trigger. You’ve never been regarded by an enemy as anything other than an enemy, and the way the captain locked his four eyes on you as he held his swords out made you feel something you couldn’t quite place. As quick as Cayde’s one liners, he was gone.

Since then, wherever you have gone, a strange ketch lurked in the sky, or the sound of fallen chatter could be heard over the ridge of a camp you’re clearing out. Whenever you investigated, they took off before you even got a chance to confront them. Then, you catch glimpses of a fallen captain watching you from a distance. The more often you see him, the closer he gets, and you can see that he is the same odd captain from the reactor.

You soon decided that you had a stalker called Mithrax. Mithrax the forsaken. Mithrax the thoroughly annoying and creepy. _But where is he?_ You think.

-

The evening was quiet. You enjoy taking time away from the tower sometimes, the other Guardians that weren’t part of the night patrol teams were settling in for the evening with drinking, relaxing and intense games of the floor is lava. On busy nights like this, especially after a weeks-worth of non-stop patrols and strikes, you prefer to spend your leave at the farm. It’s quieter since the tower was rebuilt, but no less pleasant. You set off past the gate next to the make-shift football pitch.

Your favourite spot is just a mile out from the farm. It’s an old abandoned barn that has long succumbed to natures embrace. The walls are caked with trailing vines and ivy, but the structure is still sturdy enough to support the weight of you climbing it.

In the roof is a crate, a few old bottles, back up emergency ammunition and some out of date weapon catalogues. Most of the pages have been torn out and are strewn about the ground in the form of little paper gliders.

You stretch your arms out behind you back, popping the pressure between your shoulder blades. It’s been a month since any sign of Mithrax, and although it was a relief to not be followed like a bad smell, it made you slightly nervous that he had not made a shady appearance lately. You plop down in your favourite spot, leaning on the ammunition crate. Gilly floats away to go and scan some interesting plant and you relax against the box, looking up at the clear night sky. Your little nook offers you protection from the wind, as rusted walls of corrugated iron act as wind breakers, but time has corroded one portion of the wall to reveal the inky black of night.

You keep the rigged up lights off, as not to spoil the view of the stars as the traveller floats on silently in the distance, the blinking lights of the tower flickering as though chatting to the huge metal moon. You let all the stress of the week leave through your lungs in a long sigh, and replace it with the cool fresh air of the night. These small moments of peace make you remember that perhaps one day, it can be felt everywhere.

-

You take another long swig from the bottle, enjoying the sweet taste of the drink. It’s a treat to enjoy alcohol on your time off, even if you are alone. More paper gliders litter the grass outside the barn, but you haven’t managed to perfect the perfect folding method yet and Cayde is still winning.

 _Ah, yes Cayde…_ You think as your mind wonders, folding the wings crisp with un-gloved fingers. _I haven’t seen him since I told him about my Mithrax problem. Maybe beat his glider record before I do_ , you ponder. Then you remember how close he tugged you before you socked him on his stupid silver jaw. He looked shocked, but also proud. Your cheeks redden. Biting your lip you hurl the piece of paper out into the night. It flits gracefully to the floor, but still doesn’t go any further than that red barrel Cayde managed to hit with his. You curse and begin to fold another.

The few drinks have made you slightly sloppy, and you feel relaxed but a faint creak of timbers makes you freeze. You stop folding and stay still, training your ears to the direction of the noise. “Gilly?” You call, but the ghost makes no appearance or whirring reply, instantly letting you know that something is wrong. You hover a hand over your rifle and listen again, but it seems the night is playing tricks on you. Slowly you stand, picking up the rifle but leaving the gauntlets and helmet, there’s no time.

Something whooshes past your face feather light, and reflexively you shoot it out of the air, tiny shreds of singed paper float into the grass where the embers die out.  
“I’m pretty sure that is cheating,” The soft cadence of a mechanical voice hums behind you and you turn to find Cayde-6 leaning on the iron girder supporting part of the ceiling, as though he is chilling in his usual spot at the tower. “Although it was pretty cool.”

You groan and lower your rifle, plonking it on top of the crate. “Cayde? What are you…? Why didn’t Gilly…” The small ghost appeared from behind him.

“I’m sorry…” It said with a mechanical chirp “The prank seemed harmless at the time. He said I owed him for not video capturing that punch.” Gilly spun a few times and twitched, nervous.

“Don’t worry,” You reassure your ghost “I kinda wish you recorded that too.” Cayde laughs and steps forward into the moonlight.

“I thought I would find my favourite hunter here. Still trying to beat my record? How can you expect to win against a creature of precision?” You roll your eyes as he points at himself with a thumb, accompanied by a trademark smug eyebrow raise.

You plonk yourself down on the ground, making sure your cape is underneath you so the floor doesn’t feel as cold. Cayde settles in too and you share a rare moment of silence as you look at the night sky. He is the only other person, well aside from Gilly, who knows about your little nest. You don’t really mind the company. When he isn’t being a sass-mouth of course.

“So,” He says to break the silence “How is your boyfriend?” You turn to look at him with narrowed eyes, not wanting to indulge the exo with a reply. Your silence is all the encouragement he needs. “Come on… big fella? Mean face and four arms. Probably has an ether addiction but hey I’m not one to judge a guy.” You play punch him on the cheek, brushing your bare knuckles over the scuffed paint work from last time. He hasn’t buffed it out. “Well, I guess he couldn’t handle how rough you like to play, clearly you are a woman who cannot be controlled! Is there an abused exo number I can call?” You shove him and he laughs.

“Actually, I haven’t seen him since I told you.” You say.

“ALPHA MALE!” Cayde-6 whoops out loud, punching the air. You grin, the goofy exo probably actually thinks it was because of him. “Oh I mean, I’m so sorry about the break up. Was it hard? You can cry on my shoulder, I won’t rust… probably.”

-

You spend the remainder of the night making more paper gliders, until the gun catalogue is no more than a cover with no contents. Cayde shares with you his techniques, and doesn’t mind that you enjoy a few more drinks you stashed away. Sometimes you wonder if he misses things like that. You tell funny patrol stories, share guardian gossip, and decide which alien species you would sleep with if you absolutely had no other choice. You refuse to say Fallen, despite how much Cayde teases you.

You go to pull up your hood but Cayde’s hand stops yours.

“I like it down.” He says softly, and you wait for the follow up gag but there isn’t one. He lets go and folds the last wing of his glider. “Here,” He passes the piece of paper to you “It’s the last one, and I reckon it’s lucky.” You accept it gingerly and take aim, but not before he stands behind you, taking your hand in his, repositioning your fingers. His other hand rests on your arm, and doesn’t move. “There, now try. Let the air do most of the work, try not to aim so much and don’t stand like you’re going to punch it.” He gives you a playful wink. You throw the paper dart through the air, where it soars gently, until the tip hits the red barrel with a soft tnk.

“Ha-haaaa! We have a new winner!” He exclaims, before making a sharp tssssking sound. “Ooh does that mean I’m out of the job? I didn’t like it anyway.” He whispers in your ear. You realise he is still behind you, one hand on your arm as the other comes to rest on your shoulder.

You swallow nervously. Cayde… is he flirting with me? You suddenly think, as his hand on your shoulder carefully snakes around your front to hold you in a tentative embrace.  
“Well Cayde,” You say slowly “You’re going to have to up your game. But don’t worry, you’ll be my favourite hunter when I’m vanguard.”

He laughs softly and squeezes you “The student has become the teacher. Or the teacher gave away his greatest secrets, only to be wickedly murdered by his angry and jealous pupil!” He exclaims, turning you to face him as he drops to his knees before you. “Oh please dear student, spare this poor old man his life, I feared that granting you too much power would lose you to the darkness…” He presses your hand to his cheek and you use the other to supress a laugh. This ridiculous man never stops.

Biting your lip, you reach the magazine cover and roll it into a tube. You point it at the exo on the ground before you. “I will spare you master…” You say.

“Oooh master… I like that. Say it again” You whack him with the tube for interrupting your scene.

“For though I am powerful now!” You exclaim, “I am also merciful.” This time you softly boop him. “Rise ma-… teacher.” You see a flash of disappointment on his chrome cheeks.

He stands up, and you let out the laugh you’ve been holding in while acting out your little drama. Before you can do anything else, Caye-6 has pulled you into a tight embrace, a solid arm around your waist while a hand cups your soft cheek. He buries his face into your neck and you stand still, stunned. He feels cold, but it’s not unpleasant and douses the fire raging upon your cheeks. You feel his jaw flex against your neck, and your arms instinctively grips his shoulders, holding on for support as you try and gauge what is happening between you and the hunter vanguard, a hum of satisfaction vibrating against you while your fingers clutch at the fabric of his cape. The pressure of his large and unyielding body on yours makes you tremble with giddiness, and he uses the small moment of weakness to push you against the rough wall of the barn.

He nips your neck gently and you gasp, not really expecting what might happen when an exo came onto you. After all, they couldn’t kiss with no lips… _Do they even have…?_ You gulp as your mind takes in that direction. “Cayde…” You whisper as he continues his attentions, only lifting his head to change to the other side of your neck. As he adjusts his weight against you, he pins a wrist to the wall, the joint so small in his hand now it is unarmoured.

Whatever he is doing, you like it. It’s unexpected and downright insane but you find that you don’t want him to stop, but you’re nervous as to how far this is going to go. The implications make you dizzy and with a harder bite to your neck, you snap out of it and involuntarily let out a moan, that makes him chuckle against your burning neck.  
To try and regain composure, you turn your head, inadvertently giving him better access, and look off into the tree line beyond the clearing of the barn. Your breathing deepens but you stay focused on the black of the night and the shadows of the trees as Cayde starts to press his body harder you yours, grip your wrist tighter, move his jaw to your ear where the sensation is so good, you whisper his name in bliss.

But the blue glowing eyes in the darkness of the trees breaks your ecstasy. There’s four of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It takes me ages to write such short chapters (sorry). I could post later and have more content but I want to share what I have so far, because it's been long enough already. I've been playing too much destiny 2 (sorry not sorry).
> 
> I don't know what is happening or where this is going, but I am having fun! and judging by the kudos to hits ratio, so are you guys. Thank you!
> 
> HMU with some comments or dm's if you have any prompts or ideas, or if you have PSN and wanna shoot some lads.

Gilly floats along beside you, their shell spinning as the blink in concern “Guardian, are you really going after Mithrax the forsaken?” You don’t reply as you sprint through the dark undergrowth of the EDZ, led by the light on your rifle. “You should have headed back to the tower with Cayde-6…” Still you don’t reply as you stop and scan the area with your flash light, following the natural trail though the woodland. “Are you… annoyed I didn’t record your interaction with Cayde-6 again?”

You stop and grab Gilly from the air, stuffing the little ghost into your pocket, despite their protests. You will figure out what to do about Cayde later, right now you had to focus on tracking down Mithrax.

Using your finely tuned hunter skills, you manage to track the movement of a large, bipedal creature through the deep tangle of the long forgotten wilderness that surrounds the EDZ. Not many people come out this far, but it works to your advantage, as it makes any tracks made stand out like a cabal in a dress.

You manage to follow the scrapes in the ground, left by sharp claws, and the leaves swept aside seem to have been disturbed by a long cape. The tracks take you to a small clearing, where a gap in the canopy of the trees allows you a small view of the stars, but the light they give you is minimal. You dart your flash light around the ground, noticing that this is where the tracks abruptly stop.

 _Did he transmat?_ You ask yourself, but your thoughts are interrupted by a guttered warbling coming from the tree tops.

The unmistakable Eliksni laughter could be heard amongst the rustling leaves of the large tree before you. Crouched among its thick boughs, a huge shadow looms, the glowing lights of its eyes trained onto your own. In a fit of surprise, you unload the rounds in your magazine towards the enormous fallen, but the flickering of his shield absorbs the kinetic barrage all too easily.

After just a short burst, your rifle sounds the dreaded 'click' to let you know you're out of ammo. You curse yourself for being foolish enough to leave without any back up rounds, even though your nest in the barn contains such essentials.

As the fallen captain drops to the ground before you with an almighty thud, you throw your useless weapon to the side and rush him with your knife. He makes that noise again, the deep scrape of alien laughter and it fills you with fury as he easily deflects it, the shine of the metal glancing off the hard shell of his armour.

You drank too much at the barn and your movements are slow. You got lost in the strong embrace of a charming exo and your head is still swimming with giddy nausea. You are allowing petty anger and embarrassment to fuel your onslaught towards the Fallen before you. But with no ammo and very little patience left, you bundle together all the emotions you usually leave out of battle and push them all towards Mithrax the Forsaken with the sharp end of your knife.

With bright blue trails of energy, he easily dodges everything you throw at him. You grow dizzy with the movement, and your view is peppered with swirling motes, Mithrax's teleports taking a toll on your night vision. The increasing effort makes your head swirl, your breathing hard and ragged. Tears prick the corners of your eyes because isn't this what you do best? Fight, and win?

“SLOAT DA HUR! HAHAHA” He shouts, but you only recognize one word, _prey._

Sensing your ebb, Mithrax darts behind you one more time to grab the knife from your hand with one of his many, plunging the sharb blade with a heavy throw into the soft ground.

You cry out in panic, violently writhing against the crushing grip of Mithrax as he pins both your arms behind your back. Gilly erupts from the air with a startled shout of "Guardian!" Only to be swatted aside by him, like a pesky bee. You shout for Gilly, who tumbles to the floor, twitching and blinking. 

“Dres.” He says, almost a mutter.

Heaving with all your strength, you kick your legs out in a frenzied struggle to break free, but it's no use. You're not strong enough to escape. Screaming in frustration that you have foolishly ran into the trap any good hunter should have seen coming, a harsh bark of clipped Eliksni syllables pound into your ear, your arms numbing from the unnatural position they are being forced into by the constantly tightening grip holding you in place.

 One of his hands grasps your throat, and the foreign words come slowly now, but still as forceful. “SHAR SHE’LOT. SHER SHE’LOT.” You stop fighting as hard, but you do not still entirely, not wanting to allow the alien the satisfaction of feeling you give up. 

 Aware of the pricking of his claws breaking through the light coverage of your neck, he keeps talking to you, each Eliksni word purring deeply into your ear. 

“Zes go sloat. Ze. Han. Ze.”

"I don't understand you." You tell him, gasping in frustration through the vice of his sharp fingers. He growls, slow and deep, sending a shiver through your dangling body and you desperately claw at his hands to break free from his hold on you, but his 'freakish' four arms outmatch yours and he just has too many limbs stopping you from getting away.

You spot Gilly in the grass, blinking faintly. The huge brute must of damaged them pretty badly when he knocked them aside. You wish you had Gillies help with translation, because Mithrax seems to be under the impression you will eventually understand so long as he keeps up his constant chattering. 

“En fre. Ne ge…” He says with what sounds like glee, and the sudden gentleness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. His cold mask is pressed against the back of your neck, and it gives you all too recent flashbacks of a certain exo, except this time you can feel breath seeping through and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

With an almighty heave he lifts you over his shoulder, one hand still pinning your wrists together, a second holding your throat, a third keeping your legs restrained and the fourth gripping your ass. You howl in anger, wriggling as hard as you can but the sudden upheaval has made you even more disorientated.

A gradual tingling starts to take over your body. You start itching but it feels like the sensation is under your skin and your breathing is suddenly restricted. The effects of the fallen transmat feels slow and rough, but it’s what pushes your drunken nausea to the limit.

By the time you are on Mithrax’s ketch, you have already vomited down his back.

-

When you finally wake up, your head hurts. A lot.

It takes you a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the dim light and you use your scraped hands to push yourself up from the rough and dusty floor you are lying on. Moving into a sitting position, you rub your eyes, groaning from the effort.

Looking around with slow and aching eyes, you notice that the light is low, but warm orange bulbs gently illuminate certain corners and the blue blinking coming from stacks and stacks of machinery flash. Rough and rusted metal bars stand between you and a dark corridor.

 _A cell_ , you think sluggishly. _Locked up with stolen junk and spare parts._

Your head is still swimming and as you stand, you notice that your cape is gone. Grunting in annoyance, you shuffle towards the bars, using them to hold you upright. It seems strange that you are feeling this rough, so you figure the transmat must have disagreed with you in some way. The sensation was unbearable and unnatural, nothing like the smooth and instant effect of your own. They are called the fallen for a reason, and their collapsed technology must mean their transmatting devices are rudimentary at best. Looking around you at the heaps of metal, wires and junk reinforces your assumptions.

You hold out your hand to summon Gilly but nothing happens. “Gilly?” You whisper, yet the little ghost makes no appearance. Your heart sinks, realising they must be damaged pretty badly, still sitting in the cold grass deep within the EDZ forest. In this moment, you realise just how much you depended on the robot and not having your ghost with you makes you feel lost and unconnected. Not having your weapons, cape, sobriety and now Gilly, it actually makes you feel scared.

Despite your foggy mind and pounding head, your situation is clear as day. You don’t have a ghost, you’ve been kidnapped, and the icing on the disaster cake is a throbbing hangover. You make a mental note to quit it with doom lists.

You contemplate calling out, but the ketch sounds eerily quiet, aside from the monotonous humming of the engines. You can feel the vibration of the ship through your feet, and it’s stronger than you are used to, but you make an educated guess that you’re in space. There seems to be no fallen about, you are sure you’d hear their squawking and bickering if they were. However, your incredibly dry throat and acidic mouth is making you contemplate screaming at the top of your lungs for some attention, and to confirm you haven’t been dumped along with the trash.

Before you can even draw breath, a door at the end of the corridor jets open, to reveal a large, dark fallen captain silhouette, with four blue eyes making a bee-line for you. The angry stomps take no time in making their way to the edge of your new prison cell. As Mithrax comes into the light, you notice his shaggy cloak is missing, making him slightly less imposing.

“SHE’LOT SLOAT!” He shouts at you in Eliksni. You visibly roll your eyes at him, the gesture makes him narrow his. “NE GE, EN FRER. NO SLOAT, NO SHE, NO….RAAAAAA!” He bangs on the metal bars and you jump backwards.

 _Is he… angry I puked on him? Ha!_ You think, smirking while you do. “Serves you right you fucking stalker.” You say out-loud. You both just stand then, glaring at one another. “I need water.” You say, even though you know he won’t understand. You keep staring up at him, completely bluffing away your fear. He says nothing, so you mime drinking as best you can.

He grunts and stomps away, returning a short while later with what looks like a dirty jar. He shoves it through the bars, giving it a harsh jerk when you hesitate. “Ter.” He says. _That must be the Eliksni word for water,_ you think to yourself. _Prey and Water. What a vocabulary I’m building with my captor._

The lid is stiff but it unscrews with some persuasion. You take a sniff, just in case, but your uncertainty elicits a bark from Mithrax.

“TER.” He says forcefully  
“Yes, water, I know!” You say back, and he grumbles at your sass.

A quick sip makes you fairly certain you aren’t being poisoned, and soon your greedily chugging from the container, the large lip of the jar causing the water to spill down your jaw and soak the soft coverings of your armor. Mithrax stares unblinkingly at you the whole time. You wipe your mouth and pass the empty jar back through the bars.

The purring you hear low in your chest makes you nervous, and it’s a few moments before he takes it from your hand, slowly this time. You feel clearer after drinking deeply, and your mouth doesn’t taste so rancid anymore, but the issue still stands.

_Am I a prisoner? Or am I… sloat._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who has been waiting. Sorry. It's hardly anything and it's been ages... I really got into writing a DnD campaign I'm running for my friends, I got a new job, I've been preparing for a very important larp event and I'm just plain garbage at commitment. 
> 
> Please enjoy this little snippet while I come up with a good plot and better writing skills!

 

There are no windows in your cell, or anywhere else on the dark corridor you see beyond the bars. You don’t know how many days have passed, but it feels like you have been locked away for at least four cycles. Every now and then you hold out your hand in hopes Gilly will materialise, but of course there is no sign of the little robot.

Mithrax brings you water, but doesn’t linger. He never sends anyone else to do it. Every now and then you find vanguard rations dumped through the bars when you wake up from your naps and you wonder why the fallen would steal food from guardian outposts, but then you had never before concerned yourself with what the fallen eat, and they seem to steal everything.

Today, the ketch is quiet. You find it a relief to have some peace during your captivity and use the time to come up with yet another strategy to get your ass off this heap of junk ketch. You’ve already sifted through the scrap taking up the majority of your confines and it’s all completely useless. You laugh at the weird metaphor of being stuck with it all. You sit on the floor, cold and uncomfortable, pressing the heel of your palms to your eye sockets. You don’t know what to do to get out of here, not without your ghost. You can’t even get a message out. The crushing reality of being well and truly screwed burns deep within your chest and you unleash it with a hard kick to the bars. They clang loudly, echoing complaints through the corridor.

It makes no sense why he would keep you alive. It’s almost cruel, even by their standards. You don’t even know what you’re doing here in the first place, why he would follow you, take you and keep you captive, with no clear reason or goal. What you have noticed is he hasn’t hurt you, and you haven’t seen any of his crew, despite the fact you can hear them shouting and hollering beyond the walls.

Today is different though, the ketch is quiet. The engines have stilled and the vibration you used to feel with your entire body is absent and you begin to notice how quickly you got used to certain aspects of your captivity. Mithrax didn’t bring you water this morning, giving you enough reason to believe him and his crew must be planet side, so you decide now is the best moment to carry out escape attempt number four.

The metal bar second to the left of your cell is the oldest, and each day you have been slowly turning it in its socket, attempting to work the rusty rod free. The friction at the bottom has created a fine orange dust which you brush away with your fingers to reveal a worn out ring around the bar. You clear the scrap metal and machinery away to give you enough room to squeeze between it and the  bar, but with enough left to brace your back. In an upright sitting position, knees tucked close into your chest you place the flat of your boot against the bar. With an almighty kick, you slam it onto the bar repeatedly, grunting loudly with the effort. The clang of boot on metal echoes throughout the corridor, and you know that were anyone on board, they would definitely hear it.

You try to work quickly, but the effort takes its toll on your weakened state. Barely enough water and ration bars have not done wonders for your system. _You shouldn’t keep pets you can’t provide for Mithrax,_ you think. With a final kick, the rusted pole snaps at the bottom, bending out slightly like a broken twig. You grin with satisfaction, and let out a loud sigh of relief. Scrabbling to get a purchase on it with both of your hands, you manage to bend it inward fairly easily now, and laugh with relief that you are making progress out of here.

You manage to squeeze your way through the gap you have made, but it is still no easy feat. You were sure for a flash of a moment you were stuck.

The panel on the door at the end is simple enough to figure out, and with a few experimental prods the metal door scrapes open in its runners. The harsh noise is something you have been associating with Mithrax's water visits , but the view beyond is entirely unfamiliar.

The sharp smell of metal and rust invades your senses, lingering through the corridors that sprawl out before you into the darkness, turning sharply away and refusing to elude where they might lead to. The heavy door groans shut behind you, and when you turn to look your shoulder sag as you notice the key combination required to open it from this side. _No going back now,_ you sigh inwardly.

Picking the left corridor, you slowly shuffle down the metal tunnel, crouching low and sticking to the shadows. You have to be particular with your footing, as the walls are sloped with scrap metal, machinery, tubes, wires and other assorted junk. The hoarders of the skies live up to their name as every inch of the ketch corridors are strewn with debris.

Gingerly, you step into a large opening after waiting long enough to ensure you would be alone. It seems like a sort of bridge, or social space. There is junk everywhere, _no surprise there,_ and what look like half-finished projects, dismantled weapons and in the centre, the corpse of a huge servitor. Wires and pipes trail from the monstrous, dormant orb and you suppress a shiver at the near primal imagery before you. You disliked fighting those at the best of times, but were reassured this one was surely dead. Wanting to look away from the servitor, you gaze leads you to a huge chair, constructed from riveted trash and scrap, fashioned into a command position, with keypads, dials and small screens. Above it hangs a draped banner, roughly adorned with the strange circles and scratches you have seen other Fallen wear. It isn't alone in its display though, and next to the Eliksni flag is a smaller, thinner pennant. A coil of rage rises in your throat as you recognise your own cape.

You disregard caution now, as you stomp down the corridor on the other side of the hall. _That bastard! You rage internally. My cape. My FUCKING CAPE, displayed like some sort of trophy!_ You found it disgusting, the disrespect unsurpassable. You were quite sure Cayde would of burned the Ketch to a molten blob of slag metal, that he would then use as a paperweight to only fractionally match the insult. You try to scale the wall and snatch down the precious material, but it’s no use, they are hung too high and there is no way you can reach, plus you just don’t have the time when the crew could be back any minute. Gritting your teeth, you remind yourself to payback the disrespect when your rifle graced you clenched hands again. As painful as it was for you to leave your cape, you decide escaping was more pressing and left the antechamber through another corridor.

The first door you come to is large and lit by trailing blue lights. It's locked by a complicated panel with unrecognizable imagery, but due to sheer dumb luck, four particular keys are more worn than others. It doesn’t take you long before the lucky sequence grants you access to the room beyond. It’s near dark save for the low red lights that span the edges of the high ceiling, casting a glow that takes your eyes a while to adjust to. In the centre of the large room is a huge pile of cloth, pillows and randomly stacked boxes. It looked more like a nest than a bed. There were no tables or chairs, everything was oddly floor level, including the disastrously arrayed series of screens, key pads and terminals that dominated one corner of the room. _I could get a message out…_ you thought _Send a beacon to the tower that I know Cayde will pick up!_ The flash of excitement was enough to spur you on. _Is he looking for me…_ But your thoughts are stopped short. The longest wall had a shelf recessed lengthways at head height. Simple enough, but what it contained caught your eye. Unable to contain your curiosity, the decorations called to you, your fingers itching to reach the small and peculiar objects housed there. _What would a fallen collect?_ You muse.  An old magazine clip burned out and crusted with dirt. A few shell casings, one stuffed with a wisp of fabric, a dry water canister, a cracked pen, a piece of paper and a tiny cube of glimmer. Garbage really, useless to the tech craving fallen. But here they were, displayed like trinkets and lined up with a near sort of reverence, a feeling that made you hesitate to touch, to disturb. They had been made important and the reason mystified you, intrigued you and stopped you long enough in an incredibly dangerous situation to wonder about tiny insignificant pieces of rubbish. You picked up the piece of paper delicately. It was folded with neat precision. The weapon advertisements and pictures of rifles printed in bright ink, perfect for flying through the air, to win a silly competition.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will most likely revise this chapter at some point, but thanks for reading anyways!


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